Butterfly Kisses
by beeeinyourbonnet
Summary: Belle accidentally distracts Rumpelstiltskin at an inopportune moment and the sleeping curse he's working on gets him.
1. Chapter 1

Belle held in her screams, sprinting up the stairs to Rumpelstiltskin's tower, trying to out-run the shadows chasing her along the wall. She had never been more terrified in the Dark Castle—not even that first night in the dungeon—but now fear urged her forward, lending her a grace she didn't often find.

She flung the door to his tower open and slammed it behind her, still propelled by her forward momentum. "Rumpelstiltskin!" Her voice sounded like it was being pushed through a straw, the first part squeezing out and the second getting stuck round the bend before it all exploded in a burst of hoarse sound.

He looked up, lip curling, and his finger brushed the needle of his wheel, pricking him. "What—" He cut himself off with a gurgle, and then he slumped forward, unmoving.

"Rumpelstiltskin!" Belle's voice was so high-pitched, it was barely there, and she rushed over to lift him from his table. "Rumple, are you okay? Wake up!" She shook him, but all that happened was his head lolled back and forth. She looked at the wheel, needle glistening with a single drop of blood. What had just happened?

With the door closed, the shadows remained outside, so at least that danger was taken care of. All she had to do now was awaken her master. He was still breathing, taking deep, even breaths like he was asleep, and that gave her courage.

She knew enough about magic to know that if something knocked Rumpelstiltskin out, it was definitely going to kill her, so she went nowhere near the wheel. After shifting him around until his head hung over the back of his chair, she started to haul it as far from the wheel and the bench as she could. She wanted to put him in a bed, but lifting him sounded difficult, and there was no easy place for it, so the chair would have to do.

She propped his feet up and made him more comfortable—or what she hoped was comfortable, since it was hard to tell with him being unconscious—then set about to wake him up. Stroking his face didn't work, and neither did stroking his hair or pinching his arm or shouting. Perhaps he just needed time.

She settled in the corner with one of his magic books, looking up at him every few minutes and finding no change. For two hours, Rumpelstiltskin neither stirred nor moved, though he still breathed.

"What has happened to you?" she asked, eyes filling.

Whether or not the shadows were gone, Belle knew she was going to have to leave and get food and water. If Rumple awakened, he would need something immediately—and a wet cloth for his face wouldn't hurt, either.

Arming herself with a torch, she left the workroom and shut the door behind her. The light kept any unusual shadows at bay, and she didn't feel unsafe when she had to leave it downstairs so that she could carry her bag of bread and cheese, her pitcher of water, and her tray of cups and cloths.

Dabbing at his face did nothing, and neither did wafting food under his nose. She tried eating herself, but the longer he slept, the more she worried, and she managed hardly any crumbs of bread.

She sat vigil through the night, leaving the room only to get new books for her to read, and to take care of her own necessities. She didn't sleep, despite finding a blanket in the corner, and just continued to watch him.

When the sun came up, she knew she would have to get something done. Whether or not he was okay, if he woke to find her duties neglected, he would not be pleased.

Dusting could only distract for so long, though, and soon she was back at the tower, staring at her master. He looked more peaceful than she'd ever seen him, with a corpse-like quality that made him seem fragile to touch. She missed his restlessness and his tittering, he ugly laugh and black smile, but most of all she missed the way he looked when he was spinning at his wheel, lost in thought.

For three days, she kept this routine, but when the sun rose on the fourth and Rumpelstiltskin had hardly lifted a finger, she decided that enough was enough. All she'd eaten in this time was a few slices of bread, and she was convinced that he was wasting away before her eyes just as she was.

"You stupid wizard," she said, stomping over to him. She had managed not to cry since the incident began, but now she could feel tears building in her eyes, hot and electric. "You stupid, foolish, evil soul." She picked his hand up, studying the scabbed over prick on his index finger, and tears spilled down her cheeks. How could a wound so innocuous cause this?

"Sometimes, I hate you." She lifted his finger to her face, studying it. Then, gentle as a drifting snowflake, she touched her lips to it.

When she pulled away, there was a blue wisp of something, and the pinprick was gone. She squeaked, dropping his hand on his lap with a loud slapping noise. What had just happened? Had she used magic?

She had heard tales of ordinary people doing magic. Perhaps it came from a place of worry, of desperation. Perhaps any desperate soul could use magic, but Rumpelstiltskin found them before they had the chance to figure it out. Or maybe kisses were as magical as the stories said.

It was worth a try. She'd been shaking him and wiping his forehead for three days and none of it had worked, so maybe she should just summon up all the desire she had to wake him and say it with a kiss.

"I'm going to kiss you," she informed him, just in case he might wake up and stop her. It felt intrusive, like she was crossing an unspoken line, but wouldn't he be glad that she'd awakened him?

She leaned forward, lips puckered just a few inches above his, and the butterflies that crept into her ribcage weren't entirely unexpected. If she was honest with herself, thoughts of kissing her master crept into her dreams almost every night—though the circumstances were usually more pleasant than this one.

"I'm going to kiss you right now," she whispered. Were her emotions strong enough? Was she desperate enough? It was hard to tell with the sparks she felt in her cheeks and neck and fingertips.

She closed the gap between them, drawing his bottom lip into her mouth for just a second before releasing him, hand flying to touch her lips. They burned like a just-lit hearth, heat growing stronger as she remembered the way his dry lip had fit between hers.

Rumpelstiltskin awoke with a gasp like a man emerging from water, gripping the arms of the chair as he sucked in breath. When his fit calmed, he turned black eyes to her. She dropped her hand.

"Why am I awake?"

"What do you mean? You could at least thank me for waking you!" Had he meant to put himself to sleep? Had that been his plan all along?

"You?" He stared at her as though she were brandishing fire. "You woke me?"

"Yes, I've been waiting for you to wake up for—"

"My finger is healed." He looked at his hand, then stood up, wobbling only slightly. "What have you done? Who did you call?"

"No one! I've been here for four days with you, and I finally managed to wake you." She folded her arms, lips still stinging from her kiss. "You could be a little more grateful."

He advanced on her, then stopped short as if blocked by a wall. "How did you wake me?"

"I—I don't know." She looked down at her feet. Somehow, admitting that she had kissed him now seemed foolish and terrifying. "I shook you better this time, I guess."

He seemed to accept this—or, at least, he didn't ask any more questions—and swallowed. "Fetch me some tea. I'm parched."

"Yes, sir." She ducked into a curtsey and fled the room, despite wanting more answers. She could find them in a book later.


	2. Chapter 2

Rumpelstiltskin had fallen asleep at his wheel, something he only ever did after particularly arduous deals, when he would spend the next few days spinning to forget. He hadn't left recently, but he had just been cursed, so Belle decided not to be worried about it. She went back to dusting, taking care with all the artifacts in his curio cabinet.

A sound like a snake roaring shattered the silence of the room, and Belle dropped the Agrabian perfume bottle she held. The sound of it breaking was swallowed by the clatter of Rumpelstiltskin's wheel falling over, and Belle abandoned her duster and the broken glass to tend to her blindly stumbling master.

"Rumpelstiltskin!"

His eyes blinked open and he stared at her, unfocused, still reeling around and tripping over piles of straw and spun thread. She hooked an arm around his waist and wrapped his around her shoulders, glad that he was smaller in stature than in personality.

"Belle?" He clutched her to him, one hand clinging to her waist as if feeling for movement and the other coming up to press against each of her cheeks in turn. She could feel his chest heaving like a bellows.

"I'm here. Are you okay?" She reached up to stroke his hair, and he leaned into her palm like an attention-starved cat.

"Yes, yes I'm fine." His voice was ragged, though, and his eyes closed, and he looked like he never wanted to leave her side.

"What happened?" She wanted to lead him to a chair, or maybe even just the rug, but his wheel was in the way, and all the straw scattered about made it difficult to see the floor.

"When one goes under the sleeping curse," he began, pausing to catch his breath, "one is not really asleep, but rather transported to a netherworld—a world between life and death." He touched her face again. Was he trying to prove that she was there?

"And you dreamt of it?"

"Oh, no." He opened his eyes, and seemed to realize for the first time that they were embracing one another, and so leapt back, rubbing his fingers against his thumb in the air. "I went back."

Her forehead wrinkled in a frown. "What for?"

He paused mid-waving of his hand, giving her a scathing look. "I didn't go back by choice." The wheel and straw righted themselves, and he sat himself back down. "Once one has been under the sleeping curse, one has access to that part of their consciousness. It is very difficult to stop going back. I should have thought of this before."

He stood again, and Belle stumbled out of his way, following after him when he started for the stairs.

"So you die every night in your sleep?" she asked, hurrying to keep up.

"Well, not every night." He turned around, baring his teeth in a sneer. "But yes."

Belle huffed, lifting her skirts. "Whenever you sleep, then."

"You could say that, yes."

Armed with this new information, Belle couldn't help but spend the next few days watching Rumpelstiltskin like a hawk. He claimed that the potion that would help him would be ready soon, but until then, Belle would make sure that he didn't fall asleep alone again.

Of course, when he fell asleep by the fire, she was also asleep in her library, and it was only by chance that she awoke with a craving for tea—or, perhaps it was fate, guiding her hand to where she was truly needed. She carried a full teacup, and almost dropped it when she walked past the chair to find his sleeping form twitching in it.

She set the cup down just in time for him to wake, gasping for breath and clawing at the air. She was at his side in seconds, stroking his forehead until he had calmed.

"Shh, everything's all right." She squeezed his wrist, and he winced. "What's wrong?"

He lifted his arm, letting her roll his sleeve back to reveal a long, twisted burn. It looked strange on his mottled flesh, shiny and burnished gold instead of red.

"How did you do that?"

"The netherworld." Brow creased, Rumpelstiltskin waved his hand over the burn and it disappeared in purple smoke.

"But you weren't really there."

"Magic is powerful," he said, closing his eyes again. After a few seconds, he took a deep breath and started to stand up.

"Don't." Belle touched a hand to his chest and he froze, turning to look at her.

"What?"

"You look exhausted. Go back to sleep. I'll watch over you."

"You couldn't possibly—"

"Rumple." She looked at him, eyes like stones. "I'll watch over you."

He settled back in his chair, watching her as he did, and she perched on the arm so that she could stroke his hair until he fell asleep again. If anyone had ever told her she'd be soothing the Dark One to sleep like a sick child, she'd have laughed in his face.

"Good night, Rumple."

He grunted, eyes closing already, and he must have been more tired than she'd thought because his breathing evened out in minutes.

"Goodnight, Rumple," she whispered again, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

"Belle," he murmured, and she almost toppled over the chair in surprise. Was he asleep? Was he half asleep? Was he in the netherworld?

"Rumple?"

"True love's kiss." He was still, fingers jerking in his sleep, but she was sure that she hadn't imagined him speaking.

"What?"

"True love's kiss can break any curse."

Belle watched his lips as they moved, warmth spreading through her cheeks. Then, her hand flew to her own lips, and her neck warmed like sugar heating on a stove.

"Oh," she breathed, and Rumpelstiltskin murmured something in his sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Rumpelstiltskin was covered in burns again when he screamed himself awake, but Belle was prepared for everything. She had a cup of tea with something stronger tipped in, a cool cloth, and an extra blanket for when she needed to curl up next to him.

"Shh, Rumpelstiltskin," she crooned, stroking his hair. He clung to her dress, burying his face in the soft cotton of her nightdress. The backs of his hands were burnt raw, and she wished there was more she could do for that.

"It was terrible," he whispered, sounding like he'd been screaming for days.

"What happened, Rumple?" She continued stroking his hair, glad that he had yet to notice that she'd been ready and waiting in his bedroom when the nightmare had attacked.

"You were with Bae, and I couldn't reach you." He took a deep breath, nose pressed between her breasts. Who was Bae? "You were both calling for me, and Bae kept screaming that I couldn't do it because I was a coward, and I couldn't, I couldn't do it because there was too much fire, but I tried Belle, _I tried_—" He broke off into a shuddering sob, and Belle clutched him tighter.

"Oh, Rumple," she said, kissing the top of his head like a worried mother. "It was just a dream, that's all. I'm right here, and you reached me, okay?"

"I lost him," he whispered. "I lost him, Belle, I lost him."

"Shh." She tried to nudge him back, laying him down on his pillows, and he went without a complaint. As soon as he fell asleep, she was going to go off and have a good cry about this. "It was just a dream, rumple."

She laid the cool cloth on his head, then gripped his clammy hand in hers, careful of his burns. His breathing slowed, and she stroked his hair above the compress. "Do you want some tea?"

"No." He was calmer now, but still gripped her hand as though paralyzed. "Talk to me."

"Of course," she said, and now that he wanted her to talk, she had no idea what to say. "Um—once upon a time, there lived a lady in a small village…"

By the time she finished her story, he was asleep again, and she breathed in relief. His burns weren't healed, but he would surely fix that when he awoke for the day. Intending to go back to her own room, Belle removed the cloth from his forehead and set it on her tea tray—but his bed was comfortable, and too big for just him, and he might have another nightmare.

Without thinking much more about it, she curled up on the other side and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.


End file.
